Page 119 of Iris
Xavier turns a moment from the small window he’s exposed, the wooden shutter drawn back on the door as Emmie lets out a wild shriek. “Icy! Lookit! Papa made this!”
She streaks across the floor, poor Delores bearing the brunt of it as she launches at Iris who just entered the room in jeans and a top from the pile of Freya’s things she left out for Iris upstairs.
There was a dress there, one Freya never uses unless she has some kind of event—something very rare for her. But of course, Iris ignored it.
The fucking girl we need to get back to the Upper Side decided to dress like she belongs here.
Like she knows I’m thinking about her, she gives me a look that’s pure fucking brat, and smiles.
Then she focuses on Emmie. “Papa made you something?”
“Yes, look!” Emmie drags her to one of the booths and shows her the wooden owl Xavier made, after doing some dawn arts and crafts while Iris slept.
Iris’s gaze touches mine once more, then Xavier’s, before admiring the wonky owl with Emmie.
I rub a hand to my chest, as something starts to warm in there.
Xavier asks.
I sign, deliberately misunderstanding him.
He frowns.
I sign.
We claimed her.
There’s something powerful, guttural, primal about those words. And the fact she’s sitting there with Emmie, having a great time like it’s a natural role for her, instead of rushing home like she should, makes it more powerful.
Like she wants to belong.
Like she knows she claimed us, too.
I want to break something.
I sign.
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just stalks outside.
My gaze travels to our little girl and Iris. Again, that fucking warmth flares, and I rub my chest. Emmie’s excitedly pushing her coloring book and crayons at Iris, dictating the picture she wants colored in. With her little tongue sticking out in concentration, Emmie hunkers down to her own side of the page.
A small smile lifts the corner of my mouth. That kid can make sunshine happen anywhere.
We need to work out the best way of getting Iris home. Or to this Pen’s place. It isn’t a job I can send Xav on. He’s toonoticeable, especially if one of the belles of the fucking Season’s by his side. And what are we gonna do? Cover her like we’re smuggling her?
I’d do it. I’m able to blend better—a gift or a curse I’m not sure which—but again there’s no way to explain taking Iris anywhere in the middle of the morning.
My phone starts to vibrate, and I suddenly go still. If we take her back tonight, sneak her out…somehow resist temptation…
But her family thinks she’s at this Penrith’s place, waiting out her heat, so if she’s seen with us then not only do we cause scandal but we set back out rebellion.
Or maybe it’s what it needs.
Though it would be at her expense.
I’m thinking in circles and then tangling them in knots. I pull out my phone, take in the blocked number and go to answer, but they hang up.
